Sealed With a Curse - Chapter One
Chapter One
Sacramento, California
The courthouse doors crashed open as I led my three
sisters into the large foyer. I didn’t mean to push so hard, but hell, I was
mad and worried about being eaten. The cool spring breeze slapped at my back as
I stepped inside, yet it did little to cool my temper or my nerves.
My nose scented the vampires
before my eyes caught them emerging from the shadows. There were six of them,
wearing dark suits, Ray-Bans, and obnoxious little grins. Two bolted the doors
tight behind us, while the others frisked us for weapons.
I can’t believe we we’re in vampire court. So much for avoiding the
perilous world of the supernatural.
Emme trembled beside me. She had
every right to be scared. We were strong, but our combined abilities couldn’t
trump a roomful of bloodsucking beasts. “Celia,” she whispered, her voice
shaking. “Maybe we shouldn’t have come.”
Like we had a choice. “Just stay close to me, Emme.”
My muscles tensed as the vampire’s hands swept the length of my body and
through my long curls. I didn’t like him touching me, and neither did my inner
tigress. My fingers itched with the need to protrude my claws.
When he finally released me, I
stepped closer to Emme while I scanned the foyer for a possible escape route.
Next to me, the vampire searching Taran got a little daring with his pat-down.
But he was messing with the wrong sister.
“If you touch my ass one more
time, fang boy, I swear to God I’ll light you on fire.” The vampire quickly
removed his hands when a spark of blue flame ignited from Taran’s fingertips.
Shayna, conversely, flashed a
lively smile when the vampire searching her found her toothpicks. Her grin
widened when he returned her seemingly harmless little sticks, unaware of how
deadly they were in her hands. “Thanks, dude.” She shoved the box back into the
pocket of her slacks.
“They’re clear.” The guard
grinned at Emme and licked his lips. “This way.” He motioned her to follow.
Emme cowered. Taran showed no fear and plowed ahead. She tossed her dark, wavy
hair and strutted into the courtroom like the diva she was, wearing a tiny
white mini dress that contrasted with her deep olive skin. I didn’t fail to
notice the guards’ gazes glued to Taran’s shapely figure. Nor did I miss when
their incisors lengthened, ready to bite.
I urged Emme and Shayna forward.
“Go. I’ll watch your backs.” I whipped around to snarl at the guards. The
vampires’ smiles faltered when they saw my
fangs protrude. Like most beings, they probably didn’t know what I was, but
they seemed to recognize that I was potentially lethal, despite my petite
frame.
I followed my sisters into the
large courtroom. The place reminded me of a picture I’d seen of the Salem
The vampire spectators
scrutinized us as we approached along the center aisle. Many had accessorized
their expensive attire with diamond jewelry and watches that probably cost more
than my car. Their glares told me they didn’t appreciate my cotton T-shirt,
peasant skirt, and flip-flops. I was twenty-five years old; it’s not like I
didn’t know how to dress. But, hell, other fabrics and shoes were way more
expensive to replace when I changed
into my other form.
I spotted our accuser as we
stalked our way to the front of the assembly. Even in a courtroom crammed with
young and sexy vampires, Misha Aleksandr stood out. His tall, muscular frame
filled his fitted suit, and his long blond hair brushed against his shoulders.
Death, it seemed, looked damn good. Yet it wasn’t his height or his wealth or
even his striking features that captivated me. He possessed a fierce presence
that commanded the room. Misha Aleksandr was a force to be reckoned with, but,
strangely enough, so was I.
Misha had “requested” our
presence in Sacramento
Of course, God forbid that would
make Taran shut her trap. She leaned in close to me. “Celia, how about I gather
some magic-borne sunlight and fry these assholes?” she whispered in Spanish.
A few of the vampires behind us
muttered and hissed, causing uproar among the rest. If they didn’t like us
before, they sure as hell hated us then.
Shayna laughed nervously, but
maintained her perky demeanor. “I think some of them understand the lingo,
dude.”
I recognized Taran’s desire to
burn the vamps to blood and ash, but I didn’t agree with it. Conjuring such
power would leave her drained and vulnerable, easy prey for the master
vampires, who would be immune to her sunlight. Besides, we were already in
trouble with one master for killing his keep. We didn’t need to be hunted by
the entire leeching species.
The procession halted in a
strangely wide-open area before a raised dais. There were no chairs or tables,
nothing we could use as weapons against the judges or the angry mob amassed
behind us.
My eyes focused on one of the
boarded windows. The light honey-colored wood frame didn’t match the darker
boards. I guessed the last defendant had tried to escape. Judging from the claw
marks running from beneath the frame to where I stood, he, she, or it hadn’t made it.
I looked up from the deeply
scratched floor to find Misha’s intense gaze on me. We locked eyes, predator to
predator, neither of us the type to back down. You’re trying to intimidate the wrong gal, pretty boy. I don’t scare
easily.
Shayna slapped her hand over her
face and shook her head, her long black ponytail waving behind her. “For Pete’s
sake, Celia, can’t you be a little friendlier?” She flashed Misha a grin that
made her blue eyes sparkle. “How’s it going, dude?”
Shayna said “dude” a lot, ever
since dating some idiot claiming to be a professional surfer. The term fit her
sunny personality and eventually grew on us.
Misha didn’t appear taken by her
charm. He eyed her as if she’d asked him to make her a garlic pizza in the
shape of a cross. I laughed; I couldn’t help it. Leave it to Shayna to try to befriend the guy who’ll probably suck us
dry by sundown.
At the sound of my chuckle, Misha
regarded me slowly. His head tilted slightly as his full lips curved into a
sensual smile. I would have preferred a vicious stare—I knew how to deal with
those. For a moment, I thought he’d somehow made my clothes disappear and I was
standing there like the bleeding hoochies in that awful painting.
The judges’ sudden arrival gave
me an excuse to glance away. There were four, each wearing a formal robe of red
velvet with an elaborate powdered wig. They were probably several centuries
old, but like all vampires, they didn’t appear a day over thirty. Their
splendor easily surpassed the beauty of any mere mortal. I guessed the whole
“sucky, sucky, me love you all night” lifestyle paid off for them.
The judges regally assumed their
places on the raised dais. Behind them hung a giant plasma screen, which
appeared out of place in this century-old building. Did they plan to watch a movie
while they decided how best to disembowel us?
A female judge motioned Misha
forward with a Queen Elizabeth hand wave. A long, thick scar angled from the
corner of her left jaw across her throat. Someone had tried to behead her. To
scar a vampire like that, the culprit had likely used a gold blade reinforced
with lethal magic. Apparently, even that blade hadn’t been enough. I gathered
she commanded the fang-fest Parliament, since her marble nameplate read, Chief Justice Antoinette Malika. Judge
Malika didn’t strike me as the warm and cuddly sort. Her lips were pursed into
a tight line and her elongating fangs locked over her lower lip. I only hoped
she’d snacked before her arrival.
At a nod from Judge Malika, Misha
began. “Members of the High Court, I thank you for your audience.” A Russian
accent underscored his deep voice. “I hereby charge Celia, Taran, Shayna, and
Emme Wird with the murder of my family member, David Geller.”
“Wird? More like Weird,” a vamp in the audience mumbled.
The smaller vamp next to him adjusted his bow tie nervously when I snarled.
Oh, yeah, like we’ve never heard that before, jerk.
The sole male judge slapped a
heavy leather-bound book on the long table and whipped out a feather quill.
“Celia Wird. State your position.”
Position?
I exchanged glances with my
sisters; they didn’t seem to know what Captain Pointy Teeth meant either. Taran
shrugged. “Who gives a shit? Just say something.”
I waved a hand. “Um. Registered
nurse?”
Judging by his “please don’t make
me eat you before the proceedings” scowl, and the snickering behind us, I
hadn’t provided him with the appropriate response.
He enunciated every word
carefully and slowly so as to not further confuse my obviously feeble and
inferior mind. “Position in the supernatural world.”
“We’ve tried to avoid your
world.” I gave Taran the evil eye. “For the most part. But if you must know,
I’m a tigress.”
“Weretigress,” he said as he
wrote.
“I’m not a were,” I interjected defensively.
He huffed. “Can you change into a tigress or not?”
“Well, yes. But that doesn’t make
me a were.”
The vamps behind us buzzed with
feverish whispers while the judges’ eyes narrowed suspiciously. Not knowing
what we were made them nervous. A nervous vamp was a dangerous vamp. And the
room was bursting with them.
“What I mean is, unlike a were, I can change parts of my body without turning into my beast completely.”
And unlike anything else on earth, I could also shift―disappear under and across solid ground and resurface
unscathed. But they didn’t need to know that little tidbit. Nor did they need
to know I couldn’t heal my injuries. If it weren’t for Emme’s unique ability to
heal herself and others, my sisters and I would have died long ago.
“Fascinating,” he said in a way
that clearly meant I wasn’t. The feather quill didn’t come with an eraser. And
the judge obviously didn’t appreciate my making him mess up his book. He dipped
his pen into his little inkwell and scribbled out what he’d just written before
addressing Taran. “Taran Wird, position?”
“I can release magic into the
forms of fire and lightning—”
“Very well, witch.” The vamp
scrawled.
“I’m not a witch, asshole.”
The judge threw his plume on the
table, agitated. Judge Malika fixed her
frown on Taran. “What did you say?”
Nobody flashed a vixen grin
better than Taran. “I said, ‘I’m not a witch. Ass. Hole.’”
Emme whimpered, ready to hurl
from the stress. Shayna giggled and threw an arm around Taran. “She’s just
kidding, dude!”
No. Taran didn’t kid. Hell, she
didn’t even know any knock-knock jokes. She shrugged off Shayna, unwilling to
back down. She wouldn’t listen to Shayna. But she would listen to me.
“Just answer the question,
Taran.”
The muscles on Taran’s jaw
tightened, but she did as I asked. “I make fire, light—”
“Fire-breather.” Captain
Personality wrote quickly.
“I’m not a—”
He cut her off. “Shayna Wird?”
“Well, dude, I throw knives—”
“Knife thrower,” he said, ready
to get this little meet-and-greet over and done with.
Shayna did throw knives. That was
true. She could also transform pieces of wood into razor-sharp weapons and
manipulate alloys. All she needed was metal somewhere on her body and a little
focus. For her safety, though, “knife thrower” seemed less threatening.
“And you, Emme Wird?”
“Um. Ah. I can move things with
my mind—”
“Gypsy,” the half-wit
interpreted.
I supposed “telekinetic” was too
big a word for this idiot. Then again, unlike typical telekinetics, Emme could
do more than bend a few forks. I sighed. Tigress,
fire-breather, knife thrower, and Gypsy. We sounded like the headliners for
a freak show. All we needed was a bearded lady. I sighed. That’s what happens when you’re the bizarre products of a back-fired
curse.
Misha glanced at us quickly
before stepping forward once more. “I will present Mr. Hank Miller and Mr.
Timothy Brown as witnesses—” Taran exhaled dramatically and twirled her hair
like she was bored. Misha glared at her before finishing. “I do not doubt
justice will be served.”
Judge Zhahara Nadim, who
resembled more of an Egyptian queen than someone who should be stuffed into a
powdered wig, surprised me by leering at Misha like she wanted his head for a
lawn ornament. I didn’t know what he’d done to piss her off; yet knowing we
weren’t the only ones hated brought me a strange sense of comfort. She narrowed
her eyes at Misha, like all predators do before they strike, and called forward
someone named “Destiny.” I didn’t know Destiny, but I knew she was no vampire
the moment she strutted onto the dais.
I tried to remain impassive.
However, I really wanted to run away screaming. Short of sporting a few tails
and some extra digits, Destiny was the freakiest thing I’d ever seen. Not only
did she lack the allure all vampires possessed, but her fashion sense bordered
on disastrous. She wore black patterned tights, white strappy sandals, and a
hideous black-and-white polka-dot turtleneck. I guessed she sought to draw
attention from her lime green zebra-print miniskirt. And, my God, her makeup
was abominable. Black kohl outlined her bright fuchsia lips, and mint green
shadow ringed her eyes.
“This is a perfect example of why
I don’t wear makeup,” I told Taran.
Taran stepped forward with her
hands on her hips. “How the hell is she
a witness? I didn’t see her at the club that night! And Lord knows she would’ve
stuck out.”
Emme trembled beside me. “Taran,
please don’t get us killed!”
I gave my youngest sister’s hand
a squeeze. “Steady, Emme.”
Judge Malika called Misha’s two
witnesses forward. “Mr. Miller and Mr. Brown, which of you gentlemen would like
to go first?”
Both “gentlemen” took one gander
at Destiny and scrambled away from her. It was never a good sign when something
scared a vampire. Hank, the bigger of the two vamps, shoved Tim forward.
“You may begin,” Judge Malika
commanded. “Just concentrate on what you saw that night. Destiny?”
The four judges swiftly donned
protective earwear, like construction workers used, just as a guard flipped a
switch next to the flat-screen. At first, I thought the judges toyed with us.
Even with heightened senses, how could they hear the testimony through those
ridiculous ear guards? Before I could protest, Destiny enthusiastically
approached Tim and grabbed his head. Tim’s immediate bloodcurdling screams
caused the rest of us to cover our ears. Every hair on my body stood at
attention. What freaked me out was that he wasn’t the one on trial.
Emme’s fair freckled skin
blanched so severely, I feared she’d pass out. Shayna stood frozen with her jaw
open while Taran and I exchanged “oh, shit” glances. I was about to start the
“let’s get the hell out of here” ball rolling when images from Tim’s mind
appeared on the screen. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Complete with sound
effects, we relived the night of David’s murder. Misha straightened when he saw
David soar out of Taran’s window in flames, but otherwise he did not react. Nor
did Misha blink when what remained of David burst into ashes on our lawn.
Still, I sensed his fury. The image moved to a close-up of Hank’s shocked face
and finished with the four of us scowling down at the blood and ash.
Destiny abruptly released the
sobbing Tim, who collapsed on the floor. Mucus oozed from his nose and mouth. I
didn’t even know vamps were capable of such body fluids.
At last, Taran finally seemed to
understand the deep shittiness of our situation. “Son of a bitch,” she
whispered.
Hank gawked at Tim before
addressing the judges. “If it pleases the court, I swear on my honor I
witnessed exactly what Tim Brown did about David Geller’s murder. My version
would be of no further benefit.”
Malika shrugged indifferently.
“Very well, you’re excused.” She turned toward us while Hank hurried back to
his seat. “As you just saw, we have ways to expose the truth. Destiny is able
to extract memories, but she cannot alter them. Likewise, during Destiny’s time
with you, you will be unable to change what you saw. You’ll only review what
has already come to pass.”
I frowned. “How do we know you’re
telling us the truth?”
Malika peered down her nose at
me. “What choice do you have? Now, which of you is first?”
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